


I hope our love burns brightly

by fanshae



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry being lovely and wearing flower crowns, Liam and Zayn being very good friends, Louis being very obtuse, M/M, Magic AU, Miscommunication, Niall being Irish, Pining, emotional constipation like woah, sorry niall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanshae/pseuds/fanshae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson can’t really remember ever not noticing Harry Styles. It feels like as soon as Harry set foot on the grounds of Corden’s Academy for the Elementally Gifted, Louis was instantly aware of him and his horrid curls and dimples. (They’re not really horrid. They’re actually quite lovely and make Louis go a bit weak at the knees if he thinks about them too much. Mostly, Louis tries to avoid thinking about them altogether.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I hope our love burns brightly

Louis Tomlinson can’t really remember ever  _ not _ noticing Harry Styles. It feels like as soon as Harry set foot on the grounds of Corden’s Academy for the Elementally Gifted, Louis was instantly aware of him and his horrid curls and dimples. (They’re not really horrid. They’re actually quite lovely and make Louis go a bit weak at the knees if he thinks about them too much. Mostly, Louis tries to avoid thinking about them altogether.)

 

Harry is generally awful in that he’s so wonderful that it’s awful. As a nature witch from a long line of hedgewitches, there shouldn’t be anything particularly special about Harry. There are plenty of other hedgewitches among the elemental magic users that attend Corden’s. Niall Horan, one of Harry’s best friends, is one of them. But none of them have captured Louis’ attention like Harry has. Harry, who always has a smile and a hello at the ready, who has a hedgehog familiar that always seems to have flowers stuck in its quills. It’s almost as disgustingly cute as Harry is and considering that Harry wears flower crowns to class on the regular, that’s saying something.

 

Flowers literally sprout in Harry’s wake whenever he walks outside. Louis even saw a bird retrieve Harry’s hat the other day when it flew off his head like he was some sort of curly headed Snow White. 

 

Harry is technically a year behind Louis. Despite that, he’s been bumped up into the higher-level classes with Louis and his mates because he’s been homeschooled by his mum up until attending Corden’s. Worst of all, he sits right in front of Louis in almost all of them. 

 

If teachers didn’t seat students alphabetically, Louis’ crush would probably be much more manageable, Louis thinks to himself. Instead, after sitting behind Harry for the better part of the term, he’s nearly got his entire back memorized, from the slope of his shoulder to where his hair curls over the back of his neck. At this point, he could probably identify Harry by the small sliver of his ear lobe that his hair doesn’t quite cover.

 

He’s been staring at Harry’s curls (again) instead of listening to Mr. Azoff’s lesson on drawing energy from ether. At least, Louis thinks that’s what the lesson’s been about. He’d probably have a better idea if he hadn’t been busy drawing a curly headed stick figure holding hands with a shorter, spiky haired stick figure in the margins of his notebook.

 

“You really are pathetic, you know that?” Aibhleog says. Louis’ familiar is sprawled lazily across the top of his desk, occasionally spitting an odd spark in Louis’ direction that leaves a little singe mark on the desk top. Louis scowls at the salamander, thankful (not for the first time) that he’s the only person that can understand them. Because of the bond forged between a witch and their familiar, only the witch that a familiar belongs to can understand it when it speaks. Familiars also act as a sort of lens that is supposed to help a witch focus their magic, or so Louis learned in the course he had to take on familiars the year before. In his experience, Aibhleog is more of a distraction than anything else.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis mutters, ducking his head when Mr. Azoff throws a look at Louis over his shoulder as he writes something on the board at the front of the classroom. His familiar, a small boa that’s currently draped over Mr. Azoff’s shoulders, sticks its tongue out at Louis. Louis resists the urge to stick his tongue out right back.

 

“I’m just saying it’s really embarrassing, you know, for me.” Aibhleog continues, “None of the other familiars have such embarrassing witches. You should stop being such a loser and just talk to him since you obviously fancy him so much.”

 

“I do not,” Louis insists weakly, idly noting that the back of Harry’s neck has turned red before he hisses back, “and I’m  _ not _ a loser you overgrown newt-”

 

“If you’re  _ quite _ finished, Tomlinson,” Mr. Azoff says, looking extremely nonplussed, “I’d like to finish my lecture without your input.” Louis can hear someone, Zayn probably, snickering off to his left before he’s shushed by what must be Liam. He can’t tell from where he’s sitting and he’s certainly not about to turn around and find out. 

 

“More than finished, sir,” Louis jokes. “No need to get hot under the collar about it.”

 

Mr. Azoff levels him with an unimpressed look before resuming his lecture. His teacher’s familiar continues to watch Louis, unblinking and equally unimpressed. 

 

Aibhleog is smirking when Louis turns to scowl at him.. 

 

“Bet you wish that Harry’d get all hot and bothered about you instead of Azoff, don’t you, Lou?” the salamander teases and Louis opens his mouth to quip back, really, except that he’s distracted by how the entire room is suddenly bursting with flower petals.

 

Mr. Azoff sighs and brushes some petals off of his familiar’s head. “Again, Styles?”

 

All Louis can see is the back of Harry’s flaming red neck and the slumped set of his shoulders, 

 

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Harry mumbles as he sinks further down into his seat. Which, in Harry’s defense, he hasn’t dumped petals over the classroom in almost a month. The last time it had happened, Louis had tapped Harry’s shoulder to ask him for a pencil only to startle the poor boy badly enough that Louis had found flower petals in his desk for almost a week after the torrential floral downpour he’d inadvertently triggered. Not that Harry had gotten in trouble for it (he never did). Mr. Azoff had ended up waxing poetic about the raw power needed to materialize that much living tissue until Harry had looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

 

If Harry wasn’t so obviously embarrassed, Louis might try and comfort him, squeeze his shoulder maybe, anything to keep Harry’s shoulders from slumping so dejectedly. Louis’ just working up the courage to do, well,  _ something _ , really he is. It’s just that he gets distracted by Niall trying to vanish the petals in his immediate vicinity only to have them turn into a load of shamrocks. 

 

It ends up taking the rest of the class to sort out the mess Harry’s inadvertently made of the classroom because Mr. Azoff firmly believes in students cleaning up their own magical mishaps and by the time the bell rings, Louis’ missed his chance to do much of anything.

 

* * *

 

Their next class is one of Louis’ favorites. He adores the teacher, Ms. Teasdale, and Harry sits across the room from him instead of right in front of him. This has a couple benefits in that Louis can see Harry’s face, and well, he can see Harry’s face. It doesn’t get much better than that, honestly. 

 

Louis even likes the subject, he’s always been good at Transfigurations. As a firewitch, transfigurations are almost instinctual. Or at least, that’s what Ms. Teasdale tells him when she goes on one of her tangents about metamorphic rocks and lava. Louis usually tunes out around the time she begins waxing poetic about his “molten core of potential.” Despite Ms. Teasdale’s eccentricities, or sometimes because of them, Louis enjoys transfiguring things. That doesn’t mean that he likes demonstrating them, though, and he grimaces when Ms. Teasdale calls him up in front of the class to demonstrate the shrinking technique they’ve been practicing all week. 

 

Louis drags his feet a bit as he walks to the center of the classroom but obediently plants his feet in front of the hat rack that Ms. Teasdale has been demonstrating with. Aibhleog stills in the crook of Louis’ neck and helps to center Louis as he begins to pool the mana he needs in his fingertips. 

 

The trick, Louis knows (because he does pay attention in class occasionally, thank you very much), isn’t to actually shrink your initial object, but to give the illusion of having shrunk it. Actually shrinking something requires a complicated mix of vanishing and transfiguration that they don’t cover till next term. For now, Ms. Teasdale has them practicing illusions to get them “used to the idea” or whatever. 

 

Louis’ eyebrows furrow in concentration as he focusses his gathered mana and turns his attention from within towards the hat rack. In theory, the hat rack should respond easily. The wood that it’s made of used to be living so it remembers what change feels like. It wants to change again and all Louis needs to do is to convince it to do just that. Louis begins the incantation, fingers weaving through the air in precise motions only to catch a movement out of the corner of his eye. Splitting his focus between the spell he’s weaving and the distraction, Louis looks up to see Harry watching him intently.

 

Aibhleog must feel Louis’ concentration slipping because the salamander scrabbles desperately at his neck, “Wait, Louis, don’t -!”

 

Except that Harry’s lips quirk up in a small smile, instantly shredding the tattered remains of Louis’ concentration and his tongue stumbles over a syllable. That’s all it takes, really.

 

So it’s really not Louis’ fault when the hat rack bursts into flame instead of shrinking like it’s supposed to. The blame falls entirely on Harry and the distracting quirk of his lips but that doesn’t stop the class from erupting into tittering laughter at Louis’ expense.

 

“Maybe next time, Louis,” Ms. Teasdale says, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as he slinks back to his seat, face aflame. She douses the flames with a wordless gesture, leaving the hatrack good as new. If it weren’t for the haze of smoke still lingering in the air, you’d never know that Louis had set fire to anything at all.

 

“Harry, would you like to show us how it’s done?” she asks.

 

Harry hesitates for a minute before he stands and makes his way to the hat rack. His fingers fly through the air as he recites the spell, voice clear and steady, and shrinks the hat rack perfectly on his first try. Of course. 

 

Louis glumly sinks further into his seat as Ms. Teasdale congratulates Harry who all but glows under the praise. It makes Louis’ stomach flip weirdly and he can’t quite decide if he’d rather be the one being praised by Ms. Teasdale or if he’d rather be the person putting that expression on Harry’s face. Louis lets the odd mix of jealousy stir in his stomach instead of examining it further. 

 

* * *

 

“And I made a complete tit out of myself right in front of him,” Louis moans, slumping over the lunch table dramatically. Liam nudges Louis’ hand to the side so that it doesn’t flop into his mashed potatoes. 

 

“Again,” Aibhleog says.

 

“Again,” Louis agrees, burying his face in his hands. 

 

“Well, it probably won’t be the last time either,” Liam adds in what he probably thinks is a helpful manner. Louis groans.

 

“Maybe he thought it was cute,” Zayn says as he offers his familiar, a sleek raven, one of his chips.

 

Louis lifts his head off the table. “You think so?” he asks hopefully, deliberately ignoring Zayn’s snort.

 

“It’s definitely possible,” Liam says. Louis really needs to have a conversation with Liam about what does and does not sound reassuring. Later though, when Louis isn’t in a crisis.

 

“It’s useless,” Louis says, miserable, “He probably thinks I’m proper thick.”

 

“Er, mate,” Zayn tries. 

 

“No, Zayn, you don’t understand,” Louis wails, working himself towards a full on strop. He’s barely hitting his stride at the moment. “Harry Styles only knows I exist because I continue to make a complete knob of myself right in front of him.”

 

Liam clears his throat, “Lou-,” 

 

“If only he weren’t so curly or dimple...y,” Louis says, properly distraught. Harry’s curls are life ruining. Curls that could launch a thousand ships. He’s distracted by Aibhleog biting his finger. “Ow!”

 

“Shut up,” Aibhleog hisses, “He’s coming over here!”

 

“What? Who?” Louis asks, whipping his head around to see who the salamander is talking about. He promptly does a double take when he sees Niall Horan standing behind him with none other than Harry Styles. Louis whips his head back around and frantically tries to communicate with his eyebrows just how disappointed he is in Liam and Zayn for not telling him sooner.

 

Liam shrugs sheepishly. Zayn doesn’t even have the grace to look apologetic.

 

“Do you mind if we sit with you?” Harry asks, polite as anything, like he doesn’t know that merely breathing in such close proximity has Louis on the verge of hyperventilation. He probably doesn’t know but that’s not Louis’ fault and he’s not about to tell him. It might go to his head and with those curls it’s big enough as it is.

 

Louis doesn’t answer, too afraid of blurting something horrifyingly honest like, “I literally screamed into my pillow yesterday because of how fit you are.” Honestly, he embarasses  _ himself _ sometimes, not that he’d ever tell Aibhleog that. The salamander is smug enough already..

 

“ ‘course!” Liam says. Bless Liam, honestly. Niall squeezes in between Liam and Zayn and Harry sits next to Louis. Louis tries not to hyperventilate. 

 

“Our usual table got snagged,” Louis hears Harry say as he tries not to be blatant about how he’s watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. “Niall said you wouldn’t mind if we sat with you...”

 

“Happy to have you mate,” Liam says as Zayn greets Niall with some overly complicated handshake that ends in an intense round of rock paper scissors that Niall loses dramatically. Louis had known that Zayn and Niall hung out occasionally but he had no idea that they were on secret handshake levels of friendship. Louis waggles his eyebrows at Zayn curiously only for Zayn to roll his eyes and ignore him in favor of asking Niall some question about whatever Azoff had been talking about in class today. The conversation picks up around the table without Louis, who returns to watching Harry as he picks through what looks like some sort of fruit salad. He catches himself staring at the way Harry’s fingers are curled around his fork and decides that’s creepy, even for him, only to tune in to Niall complaining.

 

“Mate, it’s so embarrassing, fucking shamrocks everywhere no matter what,” Niall groans. “What kind of proper hedgewitch only does shamrocks?”

 

“Do you think it’s cause you’re Irish?” Liam asks, helpfully unhelpful as always.

 

Zayn snorts, “No, Liam, it’s cause he’s Scottish, obviously.”

 

“Sorry mate, always mixing those two up, I am” Liam apologizes as Zayn’s sarcasm flies right over his head. “Have you got a kilt then? ‘Ve always wanted to see someone wear one, like, to the shops or something.”

 

“Can you wear a kilt to the shops?” Niall asks Harry, who shrugs.

 

“Niall, you’re not Scottish,” Zayn reminds him, exasperated, further bewildering poor Liam.

 

“Good thing, that. Shamrocks would be even more embarrassing if I was, don’t you think?” Niall says before nudging Harry, “Good thing Harry offered to tutor me. He’s proper brill, he is.”

 

“Maybe he should tutor Lou too since he can’t manage to keep things from spontaneously combusting,” Zayn jokes. Louis scowls at him fiercely. How very dare he remind Harry of the incident from earlier today. Traitor.

 

“I could,” Harry says, piping up for the first time since he and Niall sat down.

 

“Sorry?” Louis asks, startled from the staring contest he’d been having with Zayn.

 

“Tutor you,” Harry says and ducks his head, “if you want me to, I mean.”

 

Harry bites his lip and looks at Louis shyly, almost as if he’s expecting Louis to turn him down.  Louis just stares at him in shock until Zayn kicks him under the table, coughing pointedly.

 

“Yes!” Louis blurts and tries to rub his smarting shin as subtly as one can under a table, “I mean, yeah, that’d be aces.” 

 

He’s nearly bowled over by the force of Harry’s grin, dimples out in full force. 

 

“Great! Oh, I have time later tonight, if you’re not busy. After dinner maybe?”

 

And god, that’s so soon. For some reason Louis thought he’d have at least a day or so before Harry tutored him so that he’d have time to mentally prepare himself to spend time together, one on one. 

 

“Perfect!” Louis hears himself say and immediately has to fight the urge to bury his face in his hands.

 

“Smooth,” Aibhleog snorts.  

 

It seems to have been the right answer though because Harry immediately starts to happily babble about things that they could go over, asking Louis questions about if he’s struggling with anything specific. It’s a little overwhelming to be the sole focus of Harry’s attention, but it also feels nice to see Harry’s enthusiasm up close and personal. 

 

“I can’t imagine a single way that this could go wrong,” Aibhleog mutters until Louis shuts the salamander up with one of his sandwich crusts. He’s only been imagining spending time with Harry Styles for forever. Louis isn’t about to let a snarky familiar ruin it for him.

 

“Wait, so is Niall Scottish or not?” Liam asks only to be met with a chorus of groans from the whole table.

 

* * *

 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Louis says as he paces nervously around the abandoned classroom Harry had told him to meet him in. Aibhleog hisses indignantly when Louis turns a little too sharply, nearly sending the salamander flying off of his shoulder.

 

“And I thought you couldn’t be more embarrassing,” Aibhleog says, ever helpful. Honestly, Liam and Louis’ familiar should start a club. The Not Helpful Club. Louis thinks it has a nice ring to it.

 

“How’s my hair look?” Louis asks for probably the fifth time in as many minutes. His fingers itch to run through his fringe but he doesn’t dare, too afraid of making it worse. 

 

“Humans and their hair,” Aibhleog sniffs, “I don’t understand the appeal, to be honest. Seems like a waste of time to me. Not to mention unsanitary.”

 

“You’re just jealous,” Louis says. He freezes when he hears the door knob jiggle and spins around just in time to see Harry walk through the door, his own familiar tucked safely into the front pocket of his shirt. 

 

“Louis!” Harry beams, dimpling again in a way that makes Louis’ knees suspiciously weak. “You came!”

 

“Not yet, he hasn’t,” Aibhleog says snidely. Louis tries to fight the blush he can feel rising in his cheeks but if he doesn’t quite manage it, that’s okay. Harry is looking a little pink as well. Maybe Louis can get away with blaming it on the room being warm.

 

“Bit warm, innit?” Louis says, voice sounding weak even to his own ears.

 

Harry’s laugh sounds a bit forced but at least he laughs.

 

“Yeah, warm, right? Hopefully it doesn’t get warmer though. No setting things on fire!” Harry says before ducking his head sheepishly. “Well, that’s the goal. But it’s okay if you do, because we’re learning! And mistakes are an important part of the learning process.” He nods in what he probably thinks is a mature, teacherly manner, but Louis can’t be anything but hopelessly endeared. Again. He has got it  _ bad _ . 

 

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Louis promises, which seems to satisfy Harry because he nods again, though this time with a sunny smile.

 

“That’s all I ask! Now, I was thinking…” Harry says and launches into what he wants Louis to work on. It’s pretty simple, something Louis learned the year before that focusses on how he’s drawing and focussing his mana but apparently Harry’s been watching him and he thinks that having a solid foundation can’t hurt.

 

An hour later and they’ve moved on from mana drawing and focussing to actual spell casting. Or they’ve tried. Louis has started two (minor) fires already trying to perform the spell from this morning in Ms. Teasdale’s class where he was supposed to shrink an object. Harry had smuggled a spoon from the dining hall for them to practice on, theorizing that since the metal was something fire forged that it might be more responsive for Louis than the wooden hatrack had been. The spoon isn’t even close to the same size as the hat rack that Ms. Teasdale had been using to demonstrate on but it’s just as stubborn in its refusal to shrink. 

 

Louis feels a bit like screaming, a bit like crying, and a bit like stomping off in a huff. The only thing that’s kept him trying after the last fire is Harry’s earnest face.

 

“You’re almost there, Lou, I can feel it,” Harry urges. And Louis has to give him credit, he’s been nothing but encouraging despite Louis’ string of mistakes.

 

“We’re not,” Aiblheog spits, so frustrated that sparks are rippling off of the salamander’s skin. “We’re not closer than before and we’re never going to get it! It’s no use! Useless, useless, useless!”

 

Louis opens his mouth to chastise his familiar despite the tears he can feel welling up in the corners of his eyes only to be interrupted by Harry.

 

“Don’t say that about yourself! I know you can do it, you and Louis are so close,” Harry says. It takes both Louis and Aibhleog a moment to realize that not only is Harry speaking directly to Louis’ familiar, but that he’s responding to the salamander as well, which should be impossible.

 

“I know you’re frustrated,” Harry continues, oblivious to the way they’ve been gaping at him, “but -”

 

“You can understand my familiar,” Louis interrupts, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. It’s private, the bond between a witch and their familiar, and it’s supposed to be exclusive, something that another witch can’t tap into. He doesn’t know how Harry’s done it but the idea that he’s breached that bond leaves him feeling...violated. Aibhleog’s back arches defensively like they agree, curling further into the curve of Louis’ neck.

 

Harry at least has the decency to look embarrassed. 

 

“Yes? I mean, hedgewitches in my family have always been able to talk to animals and, well, as great as they are, familiars are still animals, so.” Harry’s own familiar titters where it’s tucked in his front pocket. “Don’t start with me, Heloise, we’ve had this conversation before and I  _ know _ how you feel about it but-”

 

“So you’ve been able to understand Aibhleog this whole time,” Louis says, interrupting again. Normally he’d be more concerned with manners because one, his mother raised him better than that and two, until recently Harry’s opinion of him was of the utmost importance but as far as Louis is concerned, Harry was rude first. 

 

“Well, yes,” Harry mutters, eyes flicking away guiltily. “I know it’s really horribly rude and I try really hard not to listen in and like, eavesdrop, most of the time!”

 

“Most of the time?” Louis asks incredulously and he’s shouting now, he knows he’s shouting but he can’t seem to help it. If Harry’s been able to hear Aibhleog this whole time…

 

His mind flashes back to every conversation he and his familiar had shared while sitting directly behind Harry. Every time Aibhleog made a comment about Louis’ crush or teased him for how pathetic he was, Harry heard, apparently. Every joke, every innuendo, every narrated doodle that included the words “Harry Tomlinson-Styles” in the margins of Louis’ paper, Harry has apparently known about.

 

Mortification smashes into Louis like a punch in the gut. The embarrassment he’d felt before at botching the spell in front of their whole class is nothing next to the knowledge that Harry’s been privy to Louis’ crush this whole time and has said nothing. 

 

As quickly as the embarrassment had washed over him, it’s replaced just as quickly by anger. Harry could have gently turned him down at any time and instead he’d chosen to stay silent and let Louis continue to make a fool of himself. He’d probably laughed about it with his own familiar, maybe even Niall. Louis’ never felt  so stupid.

 

“You knew the whole time then, didn’t you? About how I fancy you,” Louis asks, voice cracking a bit as he tries to reign in his emotions. 

 

Harry bites his lip and pushes back a stray curl that’s fallen in his face. The part of Louis that’s not absolutely furious finds the gesture cute but he’s quick to push that part down. It’s not like he needs it anymore anyway.

 

“W-well, I wasn’t 100% sure, I mean, I-”

 

“Bullshit!” Louis spits, the expletive punctuated by Aibhleog hissing in anger. “You fucking knew. Don’t  _ lie _ to me, Harry!” 

 

Of course he did. How could he not? Even without him being able to hear Aibhleog, Louis knows it was probably glaringly obvious. Zayn and Liam were always quick to chime in along with Louis’ familiar when he was being less than subtle. 

 

Louis pushes off the wall he’d been leaning against and begins pacing the room, his agitation manifesting as restlessness. Harry takes a half step back, almost like he’s afraid of Louis’ anger. Good, Louis thinks bitterly, let him see how upset Louis is.

 

“ ‘s this all a joke then?” Louis asks, “Offering to help the poor thicko that fancies you? Have a laugh at his pathetic crush?”

 

Bile wells up in the back of Louis’ throat and his eyes burn at the corner where tears are welling. When he glances up at Harry, he looks pale, eyes wide in his face like he’s surprised though Louis can’t imagine what he has to be surprised about. Harry’s certainly not the person that’s had any bombshells dropped on him.

 

“No, that’s not it at all, Lou, I- I swear,” Harry says, stumbling over his words in his rush to get them out. 

 

“You swear what? What, Harry?” Louis sneers. “Well? ‘S it your job to take pity on thickos like me? It is, isn’t it? Saint Harry, Perfect Harry. Harry the Teacher’s Pet, always has the right answer, always does it right the first time.” 

 

The “ _ Not like me” _ goes unsaid. Louis doesn’t have to say it out loud for it to be obvious just how much he pales in comparison next to Harry. He was fooling himself thinking he ever had a chance with him.

 

“Louis, please,” Harry swallows thickly and takes a step towards Louis, reaching out like he’s going to touch him or something. Louis doesn’t know much but he knows that he doesn’t want him to do that. He’s afraid all of his righteous fury will crumble in the face of Harry’s earnestness.

 

“It’s your fucking  _ job _ , you fucking  _ loser _ !” Louis shouts and shoves Harry away as hard as he can, making Harry stumble. Louis turns before he can see if Harry fell or not and grabs Aibhleog from his shoulder to hold him more securely in his hands before bolting for the door.

 

He ignores the, “Louis, wait!” that he hears from over his shoulder and practically sprints out of the room and down the hallway. Louis doesn’t stop running until he gets to the door of the suite that he shares with Liam and Zayn and slams it open. He collapses against the door of their common room as soon as it’s shut, Aibhleog clutched tight to his chest as it rises and falls in rough gasps.

 

It’s not until Liam tentatively says, “Lou?” that he realises that part of the problem he’s having with catching his breath is that he’s crying, tears running down his face as big gulping sobs wrack his chest. He can blearily see Liam and Zayn pushing off the sofa and getting to their feet out of the corner of his eye. 

 

“No,” Louis manages to croak, shaking his head as he pushes back his friends. Liam manages to catch his elbow as he makes a break for his room but Louis shakes him off and shuts his bedroom door firmly behind himself before falling face first onto his unmade bed. 

 

He’s careful to let Aibhleog squirm out of his grasp before completely starfishing across his mattress, intent on having a good cry. The salamander nuzzles against the part of Louis’ face that he doesn’t have planted in a pillow and licks Louis’ ear in what they probably think is a comforting manner. Mostly it just tickles but Louis appreciates the effort. He can hear Liam and Zayn arguing quietly outside his door before they quiet down and the door slowly creaks open.

 

“Lou,” he hears Zayn say softly. Louis doesn’t respond besides sniffling into his pillow but Zayn must take that as an invitation to come in because he shuts the door behind him and sits tentatively on the edge of the bed.

 

Zayn doesn’t ask if Louis wants to talk about it, which Louis appreciates. By now he knows that he’s most likely to get Louis to talk about whatever is bothering him by staying quiet. If there’s one thing Louis abhors more than almost anything, it’s silence.

 

“Harry knew,” Louis finally says, turning his head just enough so that he’s not talking straight into the pillow.

 

“About you fancying him?” Zayn asks.

 

Louis nods miserably and hides his face for another minute before continuing. 

 

“He knew this whole time and he just offered to help me to rub it in that he doesn’t, you know, fancy me back. That he’s out of my league.”

 

Zayn hums consideringly.

 

“Is that what he said?”

 

“He didn’t have to,” Louis mutters, “I know without him having to say it, didn’t need to stick around long enough to hear what I already know.”

 

Zayn’s quiet for a long moment before his hand comes up and rubs over Louis’ back comfortingly. “Well fuck ‘im, yeah? You can do better than his snobby knob anyway.”

 

“Zayn!” Louis gasps, faux appalled even as he snorts back laughter.

 

“Eh,” Zayn laughs, smiling unapologetically. “Was just saying what you were thinking, mate.”

 

“I was thinking no such thing,” Louis sniffs primly, rolling onto his back and taking the opportunity to kick half heartedly at Zayn, only to miss him completely.

 

“Sure,” Zayn snorts before laying a gentle hand on Lou’s knee. “Let me or Li know if you need anything, yeah? And Lou,” he waits until Louis meets his eyes before his lips quirk up, “fuck him, yeah?”

 

Louis’ lips twitch up into an almost genuine smile. “Fuck him,” he agrees softly and gives a small wave to Zayn before he leaves the room that he hopes conveys how thankful he is for his friend. He’ll tell Zayn later to make sure that he knows but right this second, Louis is intent on wallowing in his heartbreak and it’s a long time before he manages to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

Louis blinks awake to a view of late morning sun slanting across his ceiling, feeling like he’s only just fallen asleep, and Liam knocking on his bedroom door.

 

“Fuck off,” he croaks, his throat still raw from crying. Aibhleog mutters in agreement from where he’s tucked half under Louis’ hair. He’d stayed up just as long as Louis had, murmuring reassuring words and licking tears off of Louis’ cheek. Which means that now Louis’ face is covered in salamander slobber, but it’s nothing that a bath won’t fix.

 

Liam, never one to take a hint, pokes his head into the room, brow furrowed in concern. “Classes start in 20 minutes, Louis. There’s a muffin on the counter if you want it.”

 

Good lad, Liam, always throwing food in the face of what ails you. 

 

Louis clears his throat and continues to stare at the ceiling, “I’m not going to lectures today, Liam. ‘m sick.”

 

Normally, Liam would squint disbelievingly and run for the thermometer before letting Louis skive off class, but today all he does is hum sympathetically. Zayn must have had a chat with him after he’d left Louis’ room the night before and it makes Louis’ face burn to think about his friends discussing how pathetic he is.

 

“I’ll let Ms. Teasdale know then, yeah?” Liam offers and waits till Louis nods in acknowledgment before closing the door with a soft, “Feel better, Lou.”

 

Louis rolls over onto his side and stares at his bedroom door until he hears Zayn and Liam gather their things and leave. The snick of the common room door lock has him huffing and rolling out of bed, blanket draped over his shoulders like some sort of cape.

 

He keeps his trip from bed as brief as possible, only stopping long enough to make tea and grab the muffin Liam had left for him before  crawling back under his covers. Louis splits the muffin with a sleepy Aibhleog and sips his tea slowly as he stares out his window, watching the swirling tide of students on the green below before he catches himself looking for Harry’s mop of curls. He shakes his head angrily and finishes his tea, the flow of people slowing to a trickle and then stopping altogether as even the tardy students find their way to class. 

 

Louis sets the empty cup down next to his bed and flops onto his back to stare at the ceiling again, futilely trying to keep his mind from wandering to Harry. He wonders if Harry feels bad or if he’s already laughing about the night before. He wonders if Harry even told anyone what happened. Louis can’t help but wince at the possibility that Harry might have told everyone. It’s one thing to be the class clown. It’s an entirely different thing to be the school laughing stock.

 

Louis alternates between thinking up increasingly worse what-if scenarios and dozing fitfully for the rest of the day, occasionally venturing out of bed for more tea when he can summon up the willpower.

 

He’s curled up under his comforter reading a comic of Zayn’s that found its way into his room when he hears his suitemates come back from lecture. This time Zayn doesn’t bother knocking before he opens Louis’ door.

 

“Oh good, you’re up,” he says as he flops down next to Louis, leaning into his space to see what page of the comic he’s on. “The Hulk, classic, mate.”

 

Louis snaps the comic shut, irritated. “Did you need something, Zee?”

 

Zayn hums and plucks the comic from Louis’ hand. He flips through it for a moment until the impatient tapping of Louis’ foot against the mattress spurs him on with a sigh.

 

“Listen, Louis,” and already Louis is sure that he doesn’t want to hear what comes next. In fact, he’s positive.

 

“No,” Louis says and makes a grab for the comic in a half hearted attempt to distract Zayn.

 

Zayn holds the comic over his head easily and sighs again as Louis’ mouth turns down in a petulant pout. 

 

“Niall came and talked to me today, yeah?”

 

Louis sniffs and draws a shaky circle against the fabric of his blanket. “Was it about Harry?”

 

Zayn hesitates before nodding slowly.

 

“Then I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“Louis, I really think tha-,” Zayn tries only for Louis to cut him off.

 

“Well I really think you should mind your own business,” Louis snaps, eyes prickling dangerously. He’d thought that Zayn had been on his side. Last night Zayn had been the one to say, “Fuck him,” hadn’t he? And now he was talking about Louis behind his back to one of Harry’s friends? 

 

Zayn stares at Louis for a moment before raising his hands placatingly.

 

“Okay, Lou, okay. Just, know that I tried to tell you, yeah?” 

 

As if Louis was going to forget that Zayn had tried to sway him around to the enemy’s way of thinking any time soon. 

 

Louis huffs again and surreptitiously wipes at the corners of his eyes which Zayn politely pretends not to see.

 

“So you’re not coming down for dinner then,” Zayn states, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

 

Louis’ indignation wilts a bit and he bites at his bottom lip. “No, think I’ll just, you know, stay here for the night. Keep up appearances so the professors don’t realize I’ve skived off, yeah?”

 

Zayn snorts and tousles Louis’ hair despite his squawk of protest. “Yeah, Li and I will bring you something back.”

 

“Aces,” Louis mumbles, voice muffled as he buries his face in his pillow again. He doesn’t see Zayn leave so much as he hears the door to his room softly click shut behind him. 

 

“Do you think he’ll bring back pudding as well?” Aibhleog asks, crawling over the fabric of Louis’ pillowcase to flop across his hair. 

 

“One can only hope.”

 

* * *

 

Zayn had brought back a pudding and Louis ended up splitting it with his familiar, curled up on the sofa in their common room between both of his friends before excusing himself for another night of fitful sleep.

 

The next morning he’d been literally dragged out of bed by Liam while an unsympathetic Zayn watched from the doorway.

 

“You can’t skive off more than one day in a row,” Liam said, a little too reasonably for Louis’ liking. Louis crossed his arms over his chest defiantly though the effect was mostly ruined by the fact that he was laying on the floor tangled in his comforter.

 

“Just get dressed, Louis,” Zayn sighs as Liam rifles through Louis’ closet, looking for a school uniform that’s slightly less wrinkled than the others. “It can’t be that bad, yeah?”

 

Louis blows out a long, drawn out sigh but takes his uniform when Liam hands it to him. 

 

“If you say so, Zee.”

 

“I know so,” Liam chirps and the corner of Louis’ mouth quirks up despite himself.

 

* * *

 

It turns out that Zayn and Liam are full of shit and it’s exactly as bad as Louis expects it to be.

 

Louis skulks in the hallway outside Mr. Azoff’s room until the very last minute, hoping to avoid any chance of Harry starting a conversation. It’s for naught though because as soon as Louis steps foot in the room he’s the sole focus of Harry’s attention.

 

Harry barely waits until Louis slides behind his desk before he’s twisting in his own seat.

 

“Louis, I’m so-,”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Louis hisses, pointedly opening his notebook with a snap.

 

“But Lou,” Harry tries again, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

 

“Mr. Azoff,” Louis says loudly, hand shooting into the air as he interrupts both Harry and his instructor mid sentence.

 

Azoff blinks at Louis, perturbed. “Yes, Tomlinson?”

 

“I’m sorry sir, but Harry is bothering me. Can I please be moved?”

 

Louis is studiously not looking at Harry’s expression but he can’t miss Harry’s hurt gasp.

 

Azoff blinks even more slowly as his brows furrow in confusion, “Styles is bothering  _ you _ ?”

 

Louis grits his teeth but nods. “Yes. Please can I be moved?” He pauses before adding a reluctant “sir”.

 

“Well, by all means, Tomlinson. If you’re that insistent on paying attention in class today. Payne, switch seats with Tomlinson,” Azoff orders.

 

Louis gathers his things quickly, continuing to avoid eye contact with Harry as he and Liam switch seats. When he does get settled and looks up to the front of the room, Harry is looking right back at him with a mixture of hurt and determination on his face.

 

It seems that determination wins out because over the course of the school day, Harry sends Louis five different notes that he passes, drops, and throws onto Louis’ desk, three paper airplanes that Louis also assumes hold notes, and a paper bird that’s been charmed to sing a message.

 

Louis methodically incinerates each and every one of them without reading them. The paper bird barely gets out a few words before its charmed vocal cords are incinerated and the beginnings of Harry’s message choke off in a puff of smoke.

 

“That’s a bit morbid, mate,” Zayn mutters, looking green around the edges as Aibhleog pokes at the pile of ash curiously. Paper or not, he’s never been a fan of seeing things struggle.

 

“Well, if he’d stop sending them, I’d stop burning them,” Louis says unrepentantly.

 

When the notes don’t work, Harry enlists people. Louis has to hide in a broom closet during lunch to avoid Niall, Jesy, Perrie, and Sophia. 

 

This is the first evidence that Louis has that Harry’s told anyone about what happened between them. Louis’ not even sure what he’s told them exactly, since he doesn’t bother letting any of them close enough to find out. It’s definitely not the school wide derision that Louis had expected when he’d made it down for breakfast though and for that, at least, he’s a little bit grateful. 

 

By the time dinner rolls around, Louis is emotionally and, after sprinting around a corner to avoid a very determined looking Leigh Anne, physically exhausted. 

 

“I’ll not be down for dinner, lads,” Louis groans as he dumps his things next to the sofa.

 

“Want us to save you something then?” Liam asks. Good old Liam. 

 

“Don’t bother, I’m going straight to bed, I am,” Louis says.

 

“Suite yourself,” Liam says as he ushers Zayn back out the door. “Sleep well, Lou.”

 

“Thanks,” Louis mumbles just as the door swings shut. He changes into his pyjamas as quickly as possible and crawls into bed, pulling his comforter up around his ears.

 

“I hope he leaves us alone tomorrow,” Aibhleog mutters as he nuzzles under Louis’ chin. “I don’t like running.”

 

“I hope so too,” Louis sighs quietly. Since tomorrow is the weekend and because Louis thinks that even Harry will draw the line at camping outside the door to his suite, he thinks that they’ll get a brief reprieve.

 

As he feels sleep pull at his eyelids, Louis can only hope that by Monday, Harry Styles will be much more willing to let Louis ignore him properly.

 

* * *

 

Louis wakes up to someone, he assumes Liam, pounding on the door to his room which isn’t inherently unusual except for the fact that it’s Saturday and Louis has nowhere to be. He rolls over just far enough to get a good look at the clock on his bedside table before groaning loudly and throwing one of his pillows at the door.

 

“It’s barely gone nine in the morning, Liam. Fuck off,” Louis pleads and covers his head pointedly with his other pillow. Aibhleog grumbles about being dislodged and sends a disdainful look towards the door.

 

Louis groans again as he hears the door open.

 

“I said fuck  _ off _ , Liam.”

 

“I would, Louis but you, you really need to see this, mate,” Liam says.

 

The disbelieving wonder coloring Liam’s voice has Louis reluctantly uncovering his head and sitting up.

 

“What  _ are _ you talking about Leeyum,” Louis grouses, rubbing at his eyes blearily. It really is an ungodly hour of the morning. Liam strides purposefully across the room and pulls the blinds on Louis’ window, making Louis hiss in distress at the sudden flood of light. “What the  _ bloody fu-” _

 

“Oh, stop whining you big baby,” Liam says without an ounce of apology for the way he’s just  _ assaulted _ Louis’ eyeballs. “Now come look.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Louis says petulantly because it’s early and bright and he can.

 

“ _ Louis _ .”

 

“Yeah, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Louis mumbles, depositing a rebellious looking Aibhleog on his shoulder before hauling himself out of bed. The salamander doesn’t like being woken up anymore than Louis does and it makes it’s disdain known by singing the collar of Louis’ shirt.

 

Louis shuffles over to where Liam is standing and starts to ask what he’s meant to be looking at before he gasps.

 

The whole front lawn of Corden’s has been taken over by a mass of wildflowers that have been painstakingly magicked to spell out “ _ Harry <3 Louis _ ” in big bold letters and standing right in the center of it all cleaning up the edges is none other than Harry  _ fucking _ Styles.

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Louis fumes, suddenly wide awake. He’d known that it was naive to think that Harry would keep what had happened between them to himself. It’s apparent now that Harry was merely biding his time in order to make the biggest statement. Louis is  _ furious _ .

 

“-s a bit out there in my opinion but it certainly gets the point across, don’t you think?” Louis tunes back in to hear Liam saying.

 

“I should bloody well say so. The  _ nerve _ of him!” 

 

“The ner-, Tommo, where are you going?” Liam asks, gaping at Louis as he storms out of his room and makes for the front door of their common room. 

 

“To give Styles a piece of my mind!” Louis calls over his shoulder as he throws the door open and bursts into the hallway.

 

“Piece of your- Louis!” Louis hears Liam call before he’s too far down the hall to hear him.

 

Heads pop out of other common room doors as Louis storms past and more than a few wolf whistles follow him as he stomps, barefoot and still in his pyjamas, down the stairs to the front door. 

 

“Maybe you should wait for Liam and Zayn,” Aibhleog says, clinging tightly to Louis’ shoulder.

 

“The less witnesses to a murder the better, don’t you think?” Louis asks through gritted teeth as he pulls the front door open.

 

Harry looks up when the door swings open and his face brightens when he catches sight of Louis only to fall when he sees the downright murderous expression on his face. Harry barely has time to take more than a tentative step back before Louis is fisting his hands in Harry’s shirt.

 

“Are you taking the fucking piss?” Louis snarls in Harry’s face.

 

Harry’s brows furrow and his familiar, tucked in the pocket of Harry’s shirt with what looks like a poppy pressed into its quills, squeaks indignantly.

 

“What, Louis, of course not!” Harry insists earnestly.

 

“Oh yeah?” Louis says. “Then what do you call all, all this!” He lets go of Harry’s shirt with one hand just long enough to gesture indignantly to the flowers taking up the majority of the lawn.

 

Harry’s brow smooths out and he grins brightly which, despite Louis’ anger, is still devastatingly attractive, especially at such close range.

 

“A love declaration.”

 

All of the wind goes out of Louis’ sails leaving him gaping at Harry.

 

“A, a  _ what _ ?”

 

“A love declaration,” Harry repeats calmly untangling Louis’ slack fingers from his shirt only to clasp them tightly in his own hands. 

 

For once, even Aibhleog seems at a loss for words.

 

“I don’t understand,” Louis admits in a small voice, still feeling like he’s being made the butt of a joke though maybe not the one he’d originally thought.

 

“I fancy you. Which, I was going to tell you once we finished our tutoring session on Thursday but things went a bit pear shaped-”

 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Aibhleog mutters.

 

“-and I didn’t get a chance after our misunderstanding. And then when I tried to clear things up-”

 

“I did my best to ignore you,” Louis finishes for him with dawning horror. “You talked to Zayn too, didn’t you? He tried to tell me but I, I told him I didn’t want to know!”

 

“You were very stubborn,” Harry agrees, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “So I figured a grand gesture was in order. Something too big to ignore.”

 

“Well I, um, think you succeeded,” Louis says weakly as he takes in the flowers with a new sense of appreciation. “Bugger. I’ve been a right tit about this, haven’t I?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry says kindly.

 

“I would,” Aibhleog says, rather unkindly in Louis’ opinion. 

 

“Bugger,” Louis repeats. 

 

Harry snorts before biting his lip tentatively, “Well?”

 

“Well, what?” Louis asks, a bit overwhelmed now that his anger has melted away completely.

 

“Are you going to keep me waiting for an answer forever?” Harry teases though Louis can hear a note of apprehension in his voice. 

 

“Like you don’t already know,” Louis says as he breaks into a smile.

 

Harry’s answering smile is everything. “Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

 

“Harry Styles, I fancy you. Completely, utterly, sincerely, you’ll always be in my heart,” Louis declares grandly making Harry laugh.

 

“I think that’ll do, Louis. Now kiss me, you fool,” Harry murmurs, dimples popping enchantingly in a way that leaves Louis helpless to do anything except comply.

 

The first brush of their lips is tentative but Louis pushes up on his tiptoes just enough to press their lips together more firmly, pulling a surprised but pleased hum from Harry who returns the kiss eagerly.

 

“See, this is exactly what I was talking about when I said you were embarrassing,” Aibhleog complains from where it’s perched on Louis’ shoulder.

 

It’s hard to kiss someone when you’re laughing so hard but Louis can’t find it in him to mind when he pulls back to see Harry smiling so widely. If Louis has anything to say about it, it won’t be their only kiss and somehow he doesn’t think Harry will mind. 

 

* * *

 

Over the course of Mr. Azoffs lecture, Harry has managed to turn almost completely around in his seat. The top of Louis’ notes are covered in a conversation between the two of them that had slowly devolved into a tic tac toe game.

 

Harry scowls playfully at Louis when he marks an x in the corner spot Harry had wanted and Louis has to stifle a laugh behind his hand. Harry’s scowl is about as intimidating as a kitten and is nearly twice as cute.

 

Mr. Azoff sighs from the front of the room and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Tomlinson, I don’t suppose Mr. Styles is bothering you again, is he?”

 

Louis steals a glance at Harry who’s now biting his lip apologetically before smiling widely at Mr. Azoff.

 

“No sir, he’s not.”

 

Mr. Azoff just shakes his head and turns back to his black board with the air of a man who knows when something isn’t worth getting bothered about. This isn’t the first time that Louis and Harry have been disruptive since getting together but at least today they’re mostly just distrupting one another. 

 

When Louis looks back, Harry dimples at him sweetly and draws a heart on the tic tac toe board instead of an o before drawing a smugly striking through his line of o’s.

 

Louis just grins and leans forward to color in the heart Harry has drawn before whispering, “Best two out of three?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my three betas (you know who you are) for helping me out with this. You've been beyond amazing! Hope this was worth the wait.


End file.
